


Between Grief & High Delight

by rubberbandgurl (midnightdrives)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Eating Disorder, Snarky Pansy, pansy is depressed, soft boy neville
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27411505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightdrives/pseuds/rubberbandgurl
Summary: Pansy’s going through a lot of shit. Her father’s gone, her mother is incredibly intolerable, she has a job she hates at The Daily Prophet, she’s not popular among her former Hogwarts classmates, and she’s stupidly in love with a boy who is too good and nice to her even though she used to make fun of him at school.She’s also not coping well. But it’s all fine.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom & Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Between Grief & High Delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath.

Pansy woke up with a parched throat, and she scrunched up her nose as she tried to swallow a bit of saliva. Her brain was pulsing irritably against her skull at a slow pace, similar to a ticking grandfather clock. She could still feel the alcohol from the previous night coursing through her system as her body slowly detoxed itself. She rolled herself onto her back and forced her dark eyes open to notice the broad figure lying beside her.

Neville laid on his stomach with his arms cradling his head from beneath his pillow. There was a calm air surrounding him, which was only heightened by the soft light that filtered through the white window curtains. His dirty blond hair was a complete mess and stuck up in different directions. It gave his now-adult form a boyish charm reminiscent of their days at Hogwarts. 

Shifting to lay on her side, Pansy allowed herself a moment to simply _look_ at him. She wanted to indulge before she forced herself to leave. 

Unconsciously, Neville shifted closer to her and buried one side of his face deeper into his pillow. He let out a sigh once he got comfortable, and Pansy’s stomach did a flip. Her fingers itched to trace the lines of his face, which sharpened with age. She wanted to snuggle, but she wasn’t going to allow herself that. 

When she finally decided she had enough, Pansy pushed the blankets off and climbed out of bed as quietly as she could. She snatched her dress and quickly pulled it on as she made her way out. She waited until she was on the other side of the front door before she slipped her on heels. 

A sigh escaped her lips as she gently leaned against the door. 

She needed coffee. 

✨

With her hand propping her head up, Pansy took a sip of her hot white mocha latte. It was disgustingly sweet, but it was what she needed to get through her hangover. She had the decency to not ask for whip cream, so there wasn’t a pillow of white sugar to cushion the scorching heat of the drink. Pansy resisted the urge to make a face. The last thing she wanted was for any of the muggles in the cafe to see that she burnt her tongue. 

The cafe was quaint with polished white floors and clear white walls to match. Potted plants littered the place as decor, and there were a few colourful, abstract paintings displayed on the walls. For a nanosecond, she imagined a pair of soft brown eyes identifying each plant while sipping a herbal green tea. 

Sighing, Pansy closed her eyes as she felt that familiar clench in her chest. 

The sound of someone pulling a chair startled her, and Pansy opened her eyes to see Daphne Greengrass settle in the seat across from her. She almost blended into the walls with her perfectly unblemished pale skin and platinum blonde hair, which she pulled back neatly in a low bun. It also did not help that she wore a clean, white blouse tucked into a light pink pencil skirt. 

“You look like utter shite,” she said plainly, causing Pansy to frown.

Daphne contrasted with Pansy’s darker tones, and she often thought it was one of the qualities that made them such a good pair. Before sending an owl telling her to meet at the cafe, Pansy managed to take a quick shower at her flat and changed into something comfortable that her posh mother _might_ approve of, though that was probably unlikely. 

She settled on a short black floral dress with a deep slope in the front and a deep emerald coat to keep her warm. She was too tired to wear trousers, and the dress offered her the advantage of looking presentable and elegant without having to put much effort. Her jet black hair was still damp, and she pulled a few strands back into a half updo. 

“Well, I feel like shite a hundred per cent of the time. Today’s no different.” Pansy took another sip of her latte. Her tongue still stung from her first sip, but the drink cooled down enough to not bother her. 

Daphne watched as she drank, leaning back against her seat with her delicate pale hands on her lap. Her posture was tall and straight after years of attending classes on etiquette like so many pureblood children. However, her elegant air was entirely hers, as Pansy could never imagine she or any other witch beside Narcissa Malfoy possessed it even after a few lessons. 

Pansy was more of an arrogant sort with her upturned nose always pointed to the sky. 

“Did you drink much last night?” Her tone was soft, and there was a glint of sympathy in her blue eyes which were the same shade as hemimorphite. 

Pansy snorted. “As much as I fucking could. Those parties are a nightmare when you’re sober.” 

“True, but we know you tend to be a bit loose when you’re drunk.”

Pansy thought a pair of soft lips pressing kisses along her jaw. “I stayed away from tequila, mostly stuck to champagne and white wine. Though that really didn’t stop things from ending the way that they did.”

Daphne scrunched her nose, an indication that she didn’t know what Pansy meant. 

She sat up, placed both her hands on her lap, and looked at Daphne plainly. “I fucked Neville Longbottom.”

The hemimorphite eyes bulged out of their sockets, and her mouth fell wide open. “What?!”

“Shhh,” Pansy looked around to see a few muggles look their way. Once Daphne seemed to recover from her initial shock, she repeated in a much quieter voice: “I fucked Longbottom.”

Daphne leaned forward, her hands pressed hard against the surface of the table. Her eyes were still wide, though filled excitement for scandal and drama. “How did it happen?”

“I honestly don’t know, it just sort of did,” Pansy replied. She leaned back against her chair and massaged her temple with her index fingers. “I don’t have any inhibitions when I’ve had alcohol. You know that.”

“I’m well aware.” Daphne looked toward the register, where the blackboard hung listing the cafe’s menu in green chalk. “I’m just surprised all it took was champagne to give in to Longbottom’s charms.”

Pansy groaned. Both her hands came up to her face, though she was careful not to ruin the eyeliner she put on this morning. She needed it to help distract from her lifeless, hungover skin. “I didn’t fucking mean for it to happen. This was a rare moment of weakness, and it will not happen again.”

Daphne bit her lower lip, crossing her arms and leaning against the table. “Was it good, at least?”

She glared at the blonde for a long moment before her face fell, her gaze shamefully shifting to her white mocha. 

“It was incredible,” she murmured. 

Daphne looked over her features and nodded. “I thought so.”

“It should be a crime how excellent he was.” Pansy propped an elbow on the table and balanced her cheek on her knuckles. “You remember that time we got pissed drunk at your flat and talked about the possibility of Longbottom being a master in the bedroom?” She paused for dramatic effect. “We were right.”

Daphne laughed, which managed to sound very smooth and delicate. “Are you going to see him again?”

She reached for her white mocha and took a long sip, letting the mixture of espresso, milk, and disgusting sugar ease and heal her insides. “Bloody unlikely. And I highly doubt he’ll want to see me since I ran out without even so much as saying goodbye. He was still knocked out.”

Her eyes focused on the curved lines on the smooth mahogany table, trying to ignore any opinion that may be written on Daphne’s face. She could feel the disappointment oozing out of the blonde.

She let out a long exhale. “Oh my god, Pansy.”

“It’s better this way, honestly.” Pansy straightened her back and met Daphne’s gaze with her cool, detached eyes. “We wouldn’t make a good couple anyway.”

“Except that you’re completely and disgustingly smitten with him.”

She furrowed her brows. “ _I_ am _not_.”

Daphne rolled her eyes and huffed. “I’ve seen how you look at the bloke. Hearts come out of your eyes whenever he talks to you.”

Pansy bit her lip. She looked down at her cup and found that she finished her white mocha. With nothing else to preoccupy her hands, she crossed her arms and lifted one hand to examine her black painted nails. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Mother is unlikely to approve.”

“And when have you ever cared about her approval?” Daphne narrowed her eyes and stuck out her chin. 

“Since she has full control of my inheritance,” the words came out casually, lacking the frustration she felt from the knowledge of it. “She’s insisting that I get married so I can get my money. You’ll find that the Parkinsons are extremely old fashion over this sort of thing.”

She’s also not making enough at The Daily Prophet to move out and find her own place, somewhere outside of England. For now, she’s stuck. 

She throws herself back against her chair and sinks down a bit. “And Longbottom doesn’t check off the list of suitable bachelors.”

“He’s a war hero,” Daphne offered. 

She shook her head. “But he’s still a blood traitor. Anyways, his reputation would go downhill if he married me. It’s better if he marries fucking Hannah Abbott or whoever.”

Daphne looked at her questioningly. “Why Hannah Abbott specifically?”

She shrugged. “Bitch kept trying to flirt with him all night.”

  
  


🌿

_Last night, Malfoy Manor_

Taking a long inhale from her cigarette, Pansy’s head fell back softly against the hard surface of the wall behind her as she let out a huff of smoke. The cold air bit her skin, and she shivered, but she didn’t want to go back inside to retrieve her coat. Instead, she took another drag of her cigarette. 

It was incredibly dark that December night, Pansy could hardly see how far the Malfoy estate went. The lights from within the manor and on the patio lit several meters of the garden, but the rest of the land was cast in dark shadows. Pansy did not care for the view; though, she merely wanted a moment to escape the party. 

She slipped her feet out of her black stilettos, easing the ache in the arch of her feet with the cool flat concrete. 

“There you are,” came a voice from the darkness. Pansy looked to the side and found Neville Longbottom rounding the corner and making his way toward her. “I was wondering where you went off to.”

She gave him a tight lip smile. “Just getting some much needed fresh air.”

He stopped until he was just beside her, leaning against the wall with his shoulder just inches away from hers. He was extremely tall with the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders, especially as she stood beside him barefooted. He sported a basic black suit jacket with matching trousers, a navy tie, and a white button shirt. Her body already felt light from the amount of champagne she drank that night, but her nerves were tingling from simply standing so close to him. 

She must have visibly shivered as his eyes regarded her with concern. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m alright.” Pansy began to shake her head, but Neville was already slipping his jacket off and placing it over her shoulders. She smiled softly. “Thanks.”

He turned back to look out at the garden, his shoulders brushing against hers in the process. He looked down at her from the corner of his eyes and smiled. “You look really nice by the way.”

Pansy resisted looking down at her sleeveless cream-coloured tulle dress with a plunging neckline. The skirt was slightly translucent and ended just at her calves. It was sweet, which was unlike her. “You said that already.”

He did; when he greeted her earlier that night. 

“Well, I’m telling you again.”

She chuckled before taking another drag of her cigarette. “Are you having fun?”

It was Neville’s turn to chuckle. “Sure am. Didn’t know Malfoy could throw quite a party.”

“Blaise is more responsible for that. Granger may have helped out as well. Draco just agreed to play host.”

“So parties aren’t a thing Malfoy enjoys?”

Pansy found herself leaning closer to him, turning her body bit by bit to face him. “Not parties like these, though hosting a Holiday party is a Malfoy tradition, and I reckon Narcissa would’ve been upset if Draco didn’t have one.”

Especially since his father was stuck in Azkaban, though, at least he was still alive. 

Neville looked over her face, and she felt vulnerable as his brown eyes took her in. There was a softness to his gaze. It made her feel safe; like she was wrapped in a warm blanket. Though the longer he looked at her, the darker his eyes got. 

“You really do look nice,” he said again, his voice becoming low and heavy. 

The air felt too still and delicate to disturb, so she just hummed. 

It was nice standing there in his warm and comforting presence. She could smell his cologne which had a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. It didn’t irritate her nose like most expensive colognes the men she’s been with in the past wore. He also smelled of cedar and pine cones, though she knew that wasn’t the cologne. It was just him. Pansy reached out and felt the fabric of his tie between her thumb and index finger.

Neville moved so that he rested all of his weight on the wall with one shoulder, now facing her fully He leaned a bit closer, so close that she could feel his breath against her face. She ignored the hint of alcohol that most likely matched her breath as well. Pansy kept her eyes on his tie as she was too afraid to meet his gaze and see what she might find. 

“Pansy,” he spoke softly. She shivered at the way his voice curved around her name. He treated the two syllables with care.

“Neville,” she said, and her voice was so low she wasn’t even sure she said anything at all.

He reached up to push her fringe out of her face. It had grown a bit, and she put off getting it trimmed out of pure laziness.

Neville stepped closer, and she lifted her head just in time for him to press his lips to the corner of her mouth. Her eyes widened, and she waited for him to pull back to meet his gaze. 

There was nothing soft in his eyes. Instead, they were heavy with hot desire. They resembled warm, melted milk chocolate, very inviting and extremely addicting. 

Her eyes fell closed as his lips met hers, and she became putty in his embrace. Her hands gripped him by the front of his shirt and his arms encircled around her waist, bringing her closer to him and practically lifting her off the ground. 

Neville was warm and comforting, and although the kiss started slow and grew passionate, with their hands eagerly feeling each other, she felt incredibly safe.

There was nowhere else she wanted to be. 

✨

“Pansy, is that you?” Her mother’s voice echoed from somewhere in the house. 

Pansy quickly snuffed her cigarette out with the bottom of her shoes before tossing it into one the flower pots just outside the Parkinson’s household. “Yes, mother, it’s me.”

She shot a tight-lipped smile at the portrait of her many-greats-grandmother, who only looked down at her with disapproval. Pansy’s shoes clicked against the marble floors as she made her way through the corridor. She found her mother in the parlour, sitting in a large burgundy armchair with a teacup and saucer in her hand. 

Priscilla Parkinson was poised as she took a sip of her tea, her movements graceful and delicate. Her slim feet were crossed at the ankles, and she sat near the edge of the chair. She was dressed elegantly despite having no plans to venture outside in her planner. Her long-sleeved cream blouse was nicely pressed and possessed no wrinkles. Her black skirt was modest and reached the ends of her knees. 

Indeed, this was the woman who drilled into her daughter’s head the importance of looking your best, no matter the occasion. 

Pansy stood at the doorway for a moment and waited for her mother to say something, perhaps bring up her failure to return home last night. When the older woman kept silent, she walked over to the couch across from Priscilla and plopped down ungracefully. This earned her an eye roll and Pansy bit her bottom lip to hold in laughter.

She placed her cup and saucer on the small table beside her. “How was the Malfoy’s party?” 

“Splendid,” Pansy dragged out the word with faux cheer in a way she knew would annoy her mother. “As always.”

She played with the fabric of the couch, trancing the patterns that decorated it. Despite it being in the family for centuries, it was clean and polished. There was nothing about it to suggest that it was an heirloom. 

Priscilla nodded. “And did you behave yourself?”

Pansy’s index finger faltered, her body becoming tense as she remembered how soft Neville’s hands were against her bareback. She schooled her features as she returned her mother’s gaze. “I did, surprisingly.” 

Her mother’s hazel eyes looked over her face like a math equation in need of solving. It made her feel as though there was evidence of her night with Neville Longbottom still visible on her skin. Maybe there was a hickey she failed to notice. Perhaps she should have taken a longer shower.

Finally, Priscilla nodded. “Good. We can’t have you embarrassing yourself when we’re trying to get you engaged by the end of the year.”

Any relief Pansy felt was cut short by the reminder of her mother’s plans. She leaned back against the couch and spread her arms out on either side of her. “So the plan is still afoot.” 

Priscilla’s back straightened as a vital thought occurred to her. “You didn’t overindulge on food, did you?”

“I had a slice of cake,” Pansy replied honestly. “There was also a chocolate fountain.”

A scowl appeared on her mother’s delicate features. “You have to watch your weight, Pansy. We can’t have you filling out.”

Pansy sank further into the cushions if that was even possible. She crossed her arms on top of her stomach. “I should be fine. I didn’t eat much yesterday. I saved my hunger for the party.”

“But you couldn’t stick to a salad?”

She shrugged. “Mrs Malfoy insisted I have a slice. I thought it would be rude to say no.”

“Narcissa never had to watch what she eats,” Priscilla said. There was an edge of bitterness in her voice. “Trust me. We were in the same year.” 

Pansy nodded. “Well, I’m starving. What are we having for lunch?”

She held back a snide remark when her mother replied, “salad.” 

✨

After her first three shots of fire whiskey, Pansy felt light. 

She was giddy, her lips curling into a smile as her body seemed to almost float across the dance floor. Her arm was bent around Theo Nott’s neck, forcing him to dance with her. He smiled at her and put gentle hands at her waist, swaying with her to the beat of the music. 

Blaise and Tracey Davis soon joined them, and they all formed a tight-knit circle under the technicolour lights of the dance club. Among her friends, all high under the influence, she was safe. And she was having fun. 

But in the back of her mind, what she actually wanted was the company of a boy with a kind heart and soft hands. No matter how much she drank, that yearning did not dissipate. It was deep in her bones, a lingering feeling that would always be there. She’d become accustomed to it by now. 

Tracey touched her shoulder and leaned over to shout to her ear, “The man with brown hair behind us is staring at you.”

Pansy turned her head and spotted the man in question. He stood by the bar with a lowball glass filled halfway in his hand. Sporting an ash grey jacket with matching trousers and a navy blue shirt, he did not shy away from her gaze the moment he was caught. Instead, his lips lifted into a flirtatious smile that beckoned devilish fun. 

He looked like a good time, one filled with meaningless flirting and empty kisses. Perhaps he could help numb out all the emotions. 

“I’ll be right back,” Pansy shouted to Tracey, throwing a mischievous smile over her shoulder as she made her way over to the bar. 

Blaise howled with laughter as Theo cheered, “Get it, girl.” 

Pansy leaned against the bar next to him and asked the bartender for a double cranberry vodka, a muggle drink but very effective. She did not spare the man a glance, though she could feel his eyes on her as she wrapped her lips around the straw and took a long sip. 

“Having a fun night?” He asked as she set her drink down. 

“Quite,” she replied. 

“And are those men your friends?” He leaned an inch closer to her. 

“Yes.”

“Do you normally keep conversation this minimalist?” 

“You haven’t given me much to work with.” Pansy could feel her biting nature seeping out to play. “Maybe if you come up with a better ice breaker, I may say something witty and charming.” 

The man chuckled, which relieved her. Although she was not looking for something more, men often thought this meant they did not even have to make an effort to at least charm her. They would excuse themselves, or she would just leave in the middle of a conversation. In any case, it saved her from wasting her time. 

“I might come up with something after I finish this drink,” he said as he brought his glass to his lips.

Pansy turned her eyes back to her drink. “Don’t take too long. I get bored easily.”

🌿

She managed to walk out of the nightclub without stumbling. The man, whose name she couldn’t recall, rested the weight of his arm on her shoulders as he led her to the nearest apparition point. A mop of dirty blonde hair flashed in her peripheral, and she stopped abruptly, causing the man beside her to almost fall forward. 

Neville’s lighthearted grin shifted into a frown at the sight of Pansy. Ron Weasley and Jordan Lee walked in front of him, both busy in their own conversation to notice the change in his mood. Sad confusion filtered through his brown eyes.

Her stomach dropped, and her throat tightened. She peeled her eyes away from him to focus on the cobblestone ground beneath her heeled boots. She was starting to feel self-conscious about the state of her hair, the eyeliner smudged around her eyes, and her sweat-slicked skin. 

Whatshisname pulled her closer as they rounded the corner, and soon Neville was out of sight. 

The yearning was still there.

✨

Sex was fun, but there was something about it that felt clinical to Pansy. The first touch of lips always lacked sparks. She would become detached, just going through the motions like choreography. She would find pleasure, have an orgasm or two, but find that she found nothing worthwhile once it was over. 

When Pansy woke up the following morning, she slipped on her dress and left without a goodbye. She apparated home and hurried into the bathroom to take a long shower. Once she felt the mistakes from the previous night gone, she slipped into a large shirt and hid under her comforters. 

She stayed at home for the remainder of the day, seeking refuge from everything that laid outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, can I just say that writing this was a bit therapeutic?
> 
> For the dance scene, I imagined [Experience](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJGSU0nXd-w) by Victoria Monet playing
> 
> I also have a playlist on Spotifiy which I made to get a vibe for [Pansy](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2zsHtWsqXyIT0ZpgRjuvxr?si=kjWYaM0WTEWXdHpcSQwWBg) if you want to give it a listen to

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the story from "Franny and Zooey" by JD Salinger:
> 
> “Against my better judgment I feel certain that somewhere very near here—the first house down the road, maybe—there's a good poet dying, but also somewhere very near here somebody's having a hilarious pint of pus taken from her lovely young body, and I can't be running back and forth forever between grief and high delight.”
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr](www.tweepunkgrl.tumblr.com)!


End file.
